Zaporoche
by MLaw
Summary: The story opens with a brief glimpse into Illya's childhood, and picks up seven years after the war as young Illya pays a visit to the Cossacks of the Kuban steppes before leaving for his assignment with the Soviet Navy. Based on chapter 20 in The Randomness of life. #15 in the Illya series. For Dart53, whose comment on Randomness #20 inspired me to expand to a full story.
1. Chapter 1

It was in the early spring when most of the snows had retreated and young Illya Nickovich ventured out in front of his families dacha to play. Being a typical little boy he was covered in mud in no time as he stamped his feet in half frozen puddles, just for the sheer joy of hearing the thin layers of ice crackle beneath his feet.

He was usually a well behaved child, but being confined to a small house with little else to do but study, and keep his younger siblings, Katiya, Misha and Sasha, amused had finally run its course.

The boy needed freedom and fresh air, and some fun, and at the moment it was the mud puddle he was standing in that pleased him immensely, though his mother would most likely not be so delighted. He would face the consequences when the time came.

There were birds chirping in the surrounding trees that were just beginning to burst forth with life, when they suddenly went silent.

Illya looked up, spying a dark figure approaching the dacha along the dirt road, and fearing it was a Nazi soldier, he took a few steps back as he prepared to turn and run into the house.

Yet somehow his ever curious nature fought back his apprehension, as he craned his neck to see who it was.

The figure waved to him as it neared, dressed in a long black robe and not a uniform; he finally stood at the rickety wooden gate with a walking stick in hand. Illya recognized him, it was Father Demya the priest from St. Andrews church, the older one with the very long white beard.

"_Zdravstvuy malysh._hello little one,_" the priest smiled as he leaned on the gate.

"_Zdravstvuyte otets_hello Father. _Would you like to come in and play with me?'

Father Demya smiled at the child's innocence. "Oh that would be lovely, but I am sorry, I left my play clothes behind."

"Could you go get them?"

"No, my son. I am afraid I cannot go home again."

"Why?"

"Because I no longer have a home to go to." Father Demya said wearily.

"Why do you not have a home Father?"

"It is a long story child, one perhaps not fit for such young ears."

"You could live with us Father, my room is big enough for two," Illya offered graciously."

"Oh ho, that is such a kind offer, but I have somewhere to go. It will not be home, but it will be a place that is safe for me to stay. I do ask one favor of you, if I might have a drink of water as it has been a long journey from St. Andrews to here for an old priest, and I will have many miles to go before I reach my destination."

"Yes sir," Illya said dutifully as he trotted up the steps with his muddy boots and through the front door.

The priest heard a howl from within, a woman's voice shrieking about the mud that had been tracked in, and then there was silence.

A few minutes later Tanya Kuryakina came rushing out the door, straightening her hair and clothing as she gave a little curtsey to the old priest.

"Father, please forgive my son's rudeness. He should have invited you in."

"Ah Madam, but he did. The boy invited me to play with him as well as to come live with you, though I turned him down. Do not chastise him as he was delightfully courteous to me."

Tanya blushed, her skin contrasting bright pink against her golden blonde hair. "Why did he invite you to live with us Father?"

"Because my child, the church has been closed and the clergy evicted. The novitiates, monks and the other priests have scattered for fear of being sent away to the gulag."

"Father my son was right to offer you our home. Please, you are most welcome. " Tanya was gracious, but knew in her heart they had barely enough food to feed her, Marina and the four children, but still, it was not right to turn the priest away, and she wondered why no one else had offered him shelter.

"As I said to your son," the priest reiterated, " I have somewhere to go and many miles to travel. I simply asked for some water for a weary man."

"Then yes Father, I too extend the invitation for you to stay at least for supper if not the night. It is only bread and stew but we will gladly share it with you. And we can give you a good breakfast of kashi in the morning to restart your journey, if you wish."

"Madam I will gladly accept, as it has been a while since I have eaten."

"Then come Father," she said opening the gate for him, "you are most welcome in our humble home."

Tanya led the way, opening the door but standing aside for the priest to enter. Marina Kuryakina, her husband's mother stood nearby, panting just a little bit after hurriedly tidying up after hearing the invitation given to the priest.

He paused, making the sign of the cross as Tanya and Marina followed suit in his blessing of the house and all within its walls.

Illya had peeled off his muddy clothes, telling his mother and grandmother of the priest waiting outside, and that news sent them into such a frenzy, the two women forgot to finish scolding him, much less punish him for the mess he'd made of himself with the mud.

He ran upstairs in his underclothes, being told to put on something suitable for a priests visit.

Father Demya stepped through the doorway without another word, entered the house. Observing the old superstition that the threshold divides he observed silence. Greeting, or saying good-bye to someone in a doorway, including hugs, kisses, shaking hands, or passing/accepting gifts through the doorway were just not done.. In traditional Russian folklore, the house spirit resides there and breaking that tradition would bring bad luck. Even though he was a priest, he was still raised with the old customs that were still buried deep within his Slavic memory.

Tanya closed the door behind him. "Come come Father, rest in front of the fireplace while I set another plate at the table."

"Madam Kuryakina," the priest addressed Marina, who pulled up a chair for him near the hearth. "I remember the hospitality of the Count, back in the days when I was but a young novitiate. The kindness and generosity of your husbands house was legendary."

"I know it is sedition, but it is a crime the Soviet government did not think so,"she said. "And see, like so many, what we have been reduced to for the sake of the collective." She gestured at her surroundings."Then I suppose I should count my family lucky that we have this dacha and are not crowded into a single room in the city. Compared to that, this small home is a palace."

The priest smiled, "Ah Madam, though your home is small, it still flows with the same kindness and generosity as the once great house did. It is the Kuryakin name that is still honorable, and not some fancy house."

"True, but I would be much more comfortable and warm in that house than I am here," she laughed.

The two spotted a small blond head peaking around the doorpost.

"Illyusha, come in and say hello to the priest like a good boy," his babushka called to him.

He stepped into the room cautiously with his earlier naiveté when outside now gone. In his hand he carried a tall glass of water. It was intricately carved and the best glass in the house, one of the few things rescued from the great house when the Marina and her infant son Nicholaí had been evicted, and her husband Alexander sent to the gulag in Solovki. She never saw him again...

"Hello again Illya Nickovich, ah I see you have remembered my water, how kind of you." He ruffled the boy's hair as he took the glass from him, taking a moment to whisper a prayer.

"What did you just say?" Illya asked, inquisitive as ever.

"I was saying a prayer to our Lord, thanking him for the water, your kindness and asked him to bless you."

"All that for bringing a glass of water?" Illya quirked his blond head to the side, pondering the thought. "What sort of blessing would I get for cleaning the chicken coop?"

Father Demya laughed heartily. "Many my child, God blesses us for all the things that we do willingly and with a pure heart."

"I do not always wish to clean the coop...is that bad, would God be mad at me and not give me blessings?" He whispered cautiously.

"Just remember to pray child. "_He who is careless about prayer is careless about his salvation; he who quits prayer renounces his salvation..."_

"Illuysha, stop bothering Father Demya, come wash up and help me with your brothers and sister," his mother called from the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

Illya helped feed his siblings while mama and baba made the finishing touches on supper, adding just a bit of water and some more spices to stretch out the meal.

They served _Ragu iz Ovoshchey_, a vegetable stew in which the ingredients were cooked until soft in texture, and consisted of common root vegetables, potatoes, onions, garlic, carrots and beets. Marina took a large loaf of dark rye bread from the oven, letting it cool a little before slicing it, and to accompany the bread there was a plate of fresh butter as the Kuryakins were still lucky enough to have a dairy cow. They and some of their neighbors depended on the animal as supplies were short after the cold winter.

The priest was given the seat at the head of the table where Nicholaí Kuryakin would sit as head of the household, but he and his eldest son Dimitry were still deep within the forest of Bykivnia. It was rare now when they would suddenly appear for a visit, bringing some supplies to the family.

Tanya knew it was a matter of time before the cow would have to be slaughtered as there would not be enough feed for her, that would leave them only with the chickens and whatever game was brought to them.

Illya had been taught to shoot and had gone hunting with his father and took down a deer, but in the process he was nearly killed by a wolf. * Tanya refused to let him try to hunt on his own, that she was adamant about.

Father Demya folded his hands in prayer as did the Tanya, Marina and Illya. The other three children had been fed and put to bed early. Katiya shared a room with Sasha and Misha. Illya would sleep with his grandmother, so his mother could use his bed while the priest would have Illya's parents bed, the best bed.

"_Golodnyy sʺyest i dolzhny bytʹ udovletvoreny. Te, kto ishchet Gospoda slavitʹ Yego ; ikh serdtsakh budet zhitʹ vechno. Blagoslovi nas Gospodʹ i Vashi podarki, kotoryye my sobirayemsya poluchitʹ. Vy blagoslovili i proslavili navsegda. Aminʹ_the hungry shall eat and shall be satisfied. Those who seek the Lord shall praise Him; their hearts shall live forever. Bless us Lord and Your gifts which we are about to receive. You are blessed and glorified forever. Amen._

"_Amin," _the family repeated.

"_Slava Ottsu , i Synu , i Svyatomu Dukhu, nyne i prisno i vo veki vekov. Amin."_

_"Amin_," they all said again.

"_Gospodi, pomiluy ! Gospodi, pomiluy ! Gospodi, pomiluy_Lord, have mercy! Lord, have mercy! Lord, have mercy!_

"_Khriste Bozhe, blagoslovi pishchu i pitiye rabam Tvoim , ibo Ty svyat, vsegda, nyne i prisno i vo veki vekov. Aminʹ_O Christ God, bless the food and drink of Thy servants, for Thou art holy, always, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen."_

"_Amin_," they repeated for the last time and blessed themselves.

Tanya ladled the vegetable stew into each of their bowls, with the priest being given the largest portion, as well as extra slices of bread and butter. They had glasses of hot tea to drink as there was little else to offer except water. There weren't enough ingredients to spare to make _kvass_, a drink made from fermented yeast and malt. There was no malt to be had and yeast was needed for the making of bread.

Everyone watched the priest as he lifted his first spoonful of soup to his mouth, holding down his great beard with the other to keep from making a mess. He looked at the family staring at him.

"What, there is no waiting for me, eat eat. I am sure you are hungry."

The all began their meal, Illya eating slowly, showing his manners by using his napkin and listening intently as Father Demya was asked questions by his babushka.

"Father why is it you have left the church?"

"Ah Madam, the government has finally caught up with us. The church was closed, nailed shut and the brothers, other priests and I were evicted. We were told we would be sent to the gulag for re-education and that was when we decided to make ourselves scarce. Brother Peter shaved his beard and changed to street clothes and left for Krasny. Father Alexi headed north to where his family lives. Alas I am old and have no family to flee to far away from here. Sadly Fathers Vasily and Ivan were taken away..."

"No one else offered to help you Father?" Tanya asked.

"They were all too afraid. There is a great army now occupying Kyiv, and they are readying to defend it against the invading Germans who have crossed the Soviet borders already."

"You can stay here Father," Illya again offered. "You will be safe with us."

"Oh ho, child again you offer me such kindness, but no, you would not be safe with me here. I travel east now, to _Hortitsa,_ it is a very large island in the middle of the river _Dneiper,_ there I should be safe.

"_Hortitsa,_" Illya pondered, "Yes that is where the town of _Zaporoche_ is. I read about it in my favorite book written by _Gogol_, well it is my father's book, called _Tarás Búl'ba."_

"You have read such a book? I would think that is well beyond a child of your years," the priest's voice gave away his surprise.

"My Illyusha is very clever for his age," Tanya proudly tousled her sons blond hair. " He has a sharp mind and remembers everything he reads."

"Ah then, you must take Gogol's account with a pinch of salt then, " the priest smiled. "as he wrote that book as an historical novella but romanticized it quite a bit. He based his characters on historical figures..."

"I like when they rode their horses and did trick riding, that was my favorite part," Illya smiled. "do the _Kаzaki _truly ride like that_?" _He had always been fascinated by them and the stories of their great horses and horsemanship. He stood his little red wooden horse on the table for the priest to see, the gift he'd received from Father Frost on Christmas Eve at the church. He pretended to make the horse gallop and buck.

"Illya, no toys at the supper table, remember?" His mother scolded him gently."

"Sorry mama." He ducked the horse out of sight.

"Yes they do boy, very much so." Father Demya answered his question.

"Zaporoche. It is a wonderful but simple place, home to what is left of a great people...my people, the Cossacks. There I can walk peacefully to pray and enjoy the lovely views of nature that God gave us. And there is a church there, an old one made of wood, where I can minister to the people.

.

"Will you ride horses there?" Illya asked, his bright blue eyes wide in wonder.

"I am afraid I am too old for that, but when I was a boy, I rode my great _Don_ horse and performed many riding skills, all to impress the girls of course, but then God called me to a greater purpose, and I no longer rode the _Kаzaki_ way. I am afraid now many of the men have gone off to prepare for war and have formed great Cossack regiments to please Stalin and show their loyalty to the Soviet Union. I fear for their lives and pray for them everyday. There is rumor that some of them are siding with the Germans against Stalin. This I think will not bode well in the end for all _Kazaki._


	3. Chapter 3

"It is a brave thing Nicholaí and your eldest son are doing." the priest said, "I only hope it will be enough when the Nazis finally arrive. Though there are a great number of Russian troops in Kyiv, they do not seem truly prepared for the hell that is to come. Their discontent and hard heartedness towards Stalin will not make for brave soldiers willing to give their lives for our leader. Joseph Stalin has done many cruel things to his people, and here in the Ukraine as well. I wonder if the troops will show any sort of loyalty to him in response to his murderous ways."

"Yes Father," Marina Kuryakina spoke up."I remember the _Holodomar _ with great sadness."

"What is Holodomor?" Illya asked.

Marina looked to her daughter-in-law, unsure if she should tell the boy. Yet Tanya nodded her approval. Hard times would be coming and the boy would have to face some harsh realities.

"It means in Ukrainian, "death by hunger" and It took place just before your were born Illyusha my child. It is known by other names...the "Terror-Famine" and "Famine-Genocide" here in Kyiv. Millions of people died of starvation." She lowered her voice as if unwanted ears were listening to her seditious talk. " It was a deliberate act of genocide by Joseph Stalin and the Soviet government. The famine was the result of actions and policies of the totalitarian regime that caused the deaths of millions of Ukrainians, Russians, Kazaks and many others."

"Baba, what is genocide? I do not know that word."

Marina thought for a moment, trying to word it carefully enough as Illya was still a child. " It is the deliberate and systematic destruction of a particular group of people...it could be because of what ethnic group they are, their racial, religious beliefs. It could be anything that someone holds against them, and for no sane reason."

"But why would someone do that Baba?"

"I do not know my child, it to me a form of insanity just to murder people for who they are or what they believe."

Illya frowned as he thought over her answer, his face suddenly went paler than normal. "Does this mean we are going to die Baba? We believe in God but I am told in school God does not exist. So we if we believe in religion, will we be genocided? Will the government come after us like they did Father Demya." His eyes began to well up.

"Nyet, nyet my Illyusha, do not cry. We are safe, we keep to ourselves now. We have no church to go to now."

Illya slipped from his chair, climbing into his mother's lap as he fought back his tears.

"Mama, I do not want to die," he sniffled.

Tanya rocked him for a few minutes until he was comforted, regretting they had included him in the conversation at the table. She did not like to see her son frightened, but she knew letting him hear such terrible talk was really for the best, even though it upset him. He had to be ready, as Nicholaí had once said, for when the time came. That time was fast approaching. War was looming over them like a giant shadow of Baba Yaga.

The conversation subsided as the meal concluded and Father Demya said the prayer of thanks.

"_Slava Ottsu , i Synu , i Svyatomu Dukhu, nyne i prisno i vo veki vekov. Amin'_glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen."_

"_Vasha matka stala Nebesnoy tablitse_your womb became a Heavenly Table, bearing the Heavenly Bread - Christ our God. Whoever eats of Him shall not die, O Birth-giver of God, according to the word of the Nourisher of honorable than the Cherubim, and more glorious beyond compare than the Seraphim: without defilement you gave birth to God the Word: true Theotokos, we magnify You"._

_"Thou, O Lord, hast made us glad by Thy works; in the works of Thy hands shall we rejoice. Lift up the Light of Thy countenance upon us, O Lord! Thou hast put joy in my heart. With teh fruit of wheat, wine and oil have we been satisfied. In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for Thou alone, O Lord, makest me to dwell in hope"._

_"Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen"._

_"Lord, have mercy! Lord, have mercy! Lord, have mercy!"_

_"God is with us, through His Grace and love for mankind, always now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen."_

The priest, Tanya, and Baba all crossed themselves, "_Amin._"

Illya followed suit, but his mind wandered, as he puzzled as to why prayers alway seemed to be so long.

"Father, would you care to join us by the fire? We usually sing some songs while Madam plays the concertina." Tanya graciously asked.

"That would be lovely, it has been a long time since I have sat with a family. The concertina, Nicholaí's I presume. He and his music were missed after Holy Supper at Christmas. Is he well?"

Tanya's eyes filled with sadness. "I pray he and our son Dimitry are alive. We have seen them only a few times and the last was when they came home to ready the house for winter. I can only hope now that Spring is arriving, they will safely return to us."

The priest bowed his head, offering a silent prayer, asking God to keep them well and let them return to this wonderful family.

They sat together in front of the fire as Madam began to play on the concertina... a familiar melody to a one they all knew, '_Kalinka,_' a folk song of love. Father Demya joined in with his wonderful deep voice, though it was a song about a man in love with a woman, the priest sang it with gusto... after all, he hadn't been a priest all his life. Marina and Tanya sang behind him in the chorus...

"_Mozhzhevelʹnik, mozhzhevelʹnik , mozhzhevelʹnik, moy mozhzhevelʹnika,_

_V sadu yestʹyagody, moya malina.__Pod sosnoy, pod zelenyye sosny,_

_Ulozhi menya spatʹ__Akh ty, dorogaya sosna, akh ty zelenyye sosny,_

_Vy ne shelestyat tak gromko na menya __Krasivaya gornichnaya , milaya devitsa!_

_Juniper, juniper, juniper, my juniper, __In the garden there's the berry, my raspberry._

_Under the pine, under the green pine, __Lay me down to sleep __Oh you dear pine, oh you green pine,_

_Don't you rustle so loud over me__Beautiful maid, dear maid, __please fall in love with me!"_

Illya hopped up, trying to dance the _Kazachok_, bringing laughter to the others as he struggled, finally landing on his _zhopa,_ and making him laugh out loud as well. It had been a long time since there was this much laughter in the Kuryakin dacha.

The next morning the priest left early to make his way to Hortitsa and the town of Zaporoche, he carried with him a small sack containing a loaf of potato babka, some carrots and turnips and a goatskin water bag.

It was the last time Illya Nickovich saw Father Demya, but he would never forget the wonderful visit and the stories the priest told him. He dreamed of meeting other Kazaki someday, and to learn to ride as they did...

.


	4. Chapter 4

Seven years later the war was long over, though far from forgotten, especially to Illya Kuryakin who had spent the rest of his childhood in an orphanage and State school. There he was eventually recruited by Victor Karkoff to _Glavnoye Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniye, _ the foreign military intelligence main directorate. Seeing the boy was intelligent, Victor encouraged Illya to complete his education and sent him to the University of Georgia, while sponsoring him to the Military intelligence. Orphans were the perfect candidates for this line of work...

The young Russian completed his education dutifully, graduating from the University of Georgia at a very young age. Soon it would be time for him to begin his mandatory military service in the Soviet Navy and after that he would fully enter the world of espionage as an agent in training for GRU. He had already seen some training, as his sponsor Viktor Karkoff saw to it that he was fast tracked through his pre-training.

As Illya expected of all things Soviet; basic training in seamanship was difficult and the instructors, task masters. He suffered at their hands many times because he was small and skinny, and they thought him an easy mark, a loser. Soon he developed a reputation of being a scrapper just as he had back in the orphanage and was know as one who never gave up in spite of the odds.* He handled everything they threw at him, including being thrown into the frigid waters of the sea, thankfully he was strong swimmer, though his proclivity to sea sickness added to his sufferings.

The schooling intense, the training was gruelling and Illya barely survived basic training, as some did not. They're bodies disappeared into the Baltic, never to be seen again.

Illya had a month to himself before reporting for duty on board the Zulu class submarine, ' Moskva.' and decided to do something he had longed for since he was a child. He remembered fondly the visit of the priest, Father Demya, and the stories of the Cossacks and the Zaporozhian Sich on the island of _Hortitsa, _in the middle of the Dneiper River back home.

He'd always wanted to learn to ride like the Kazaki and making his way to the steppes, where many of the descendants of the Zaporozhian Cossacks still lived.

They were a nomadic people and even after their loyal service to the Soviet Union, were looked down upon by the government. The Kazak ways were disappearing slowly, with many of them being forced to abandon their freedom and live in cities.

But on the steppes, Illya knew he could find one of the last true enclaves of Kazak life, and there he would stay for the month, if they'd have him, and hopefully let him learn to ride their way, fulfilling his childhood dream.

There was something about the young blond Russian that called to the local leaders of the tribe, when he approached them, perhaps there was the sadness about him, or it might have been his love of horses that had them even consider welcoming him into their midst.

Illya had walked boldly into their encampment one day, dressed in traditional clothing, a Russian style men's shirt, but white without embroidery, signifying he was going through a period of transformation in his life. Such symbolism was a powerful message to the traditional Cossacks.

People wore white clothing during any period of change in their social role. Russians believed that during any life transition the border between material and spiritual world became thin and transparent. A light of heaven shone upon a person-in-passage. this could include children under the age of eight to seniors over sixty, brides to be but a few hours before their wedding, as well as those destined for the military. The white clothing signified the light of heaven...

By dressing this way, Illya would show the Kazaki that he had respect for the old ways as did they. As to whether he really did or not, did not matter, all that mattered was that the Kazaki perceived that he did. His classes for GRU were already teaching him to think differently.

But still he did have respect for them as a people, that his pre-training at the Aquarium, the name for the mysterious GRU headquarters, could not take that away from him. His was to be a life of deception and misdirection, but deep down he would hold onto the things his father, mother and grandmother had taught him.

In spite of his upbringing, life in the orphanage had once put him on a bad path, but there a girl named Natasha pointed him back in the right direction, and brought hope and love back into his young life. * But now, given his future occupation in the world of espionage, life for him was to be a game, yet one where he would let his masters think he was a good little Soviet Citizen, all the while keeping to his own morals while he tried to stay under their radar, and stay alive.

He believed in Communism, but realized his government was not keeping to its teachings and beliefs. Life was flawed and the people who should have reaped the benefits of the collective suffered...many in poverty. It was again, the haves and have-nots. In spite of the efforts of the Soviet leadership, and the loss of millions of lives in the name of Communism, nothing had really been altered...

Illya Kuryakin was just a cog in a great wheel and could do nothing to change that. All he could was to go where he was told to go and do what he was supposed to do, keeping a low profile and hopefully remain alive.

For now he put that all aside as he stood with his hat in hand, so to speak, in front of the Yuli Borisovich the ataman, who was the leader of the Cossack sich.

Illya was in awe of his appearance, as the man was clothed in traditional Kazak garb. On his head he wore a Kuban Cossack hat of lambs wool, and a dark blue mid-calf coat, with pockets on the both breasts that would have held rifle bullets. The cuffs were large and bright red. His pants were faded, but must have been black one time, and his brown boots were up to his knees.

Borisovich removed his hat, scratching his head, revealing his head was shaved on either side but his grey hair from the top to the back was fashioned in a tight braid, in the traditional _Oseledets_, or roach hairstyle. His moustache was white and long, worn in the old Slavic way, drooping well down past his chin. He was strumming on a large stringed instrument called a _bandura_, one that was Ukrainian in origin, and he did not look up until he was finished with his tune

.

The people of this sich were mostly descendants of the of the Black Sea Cossack Host, originally Zaporozhian Cossacks and the Caucasus Line Cossack Host. Many of their high-ranking leaders had been sent by Stalin to the Solovki gulag or killed out right.

With the destruction of the Zaporozhian Sich, many of the Cossacks settled in the Kuban region of Russia and became known as the _Kubanskiye kаzaki_ or Kuban Cossacks. Although numerous Kazak groups came to inhabit the Western Northern Caucasus, but still, most were of the Kuban Cossacks.

Illya said nothing to them, keeping his own secret that his grandfather, the former Count Alexander Sergeivich Kuryakin had also been sent to his death in Solovki...**

.

* ref "The Orphanage"

** ref to "Beginnings" and "The Gambit Affair"


	5. Chapter 5

Yuli Borisovich removed his hat, and put his bandura down on top of its case, he looked to the elders seated on either side of him and there was much discussion among them.

Standing beside the elders was a man wearing a white lambswool Cossack style hat, dressed in a colorful jacket. He watched Illya's every move, and was presumably a body-guard.

The elders asked Illya questions, being leery of a Russian, until Illya spoke of Father Demya. They seemed to react well to that information and after what seemed an eternity, it was finally agreed upon teaching the young Russian. The way Illya spoke of the priest as well as Zaparoche on the island of Hortitsa were what won them over.

It seemed Father Demya had died at the hands of the Germans during the war, while helping those women and children left in the sich to flee. His name was held in high esteem as a holy martyr among the _Kubanskiye Kаzaki._

Training in warrior skills such as riding began, they told Illya, were literally from birth for the Cossack. As soon as a boy was born, a bullet was put "on his tooth", and they let his hand touch a gun. On the seventh day a baby was baptized, and on the fortieth day he was clothed in a little mail suit of armor and a little saber was hitched to his side, after which his father handed him back to his mother with the words "Here is a Cossack to you".

When a baby cut his teeth, he was brought to the church on horseback and a service to St. John the Warrior was served, so the boy would grow up brave and dedicated to God and Orthodoxy, but now that part of a Cossack child's life that was to be no more, with the banning of the church and the practice of religion under the Soviet Government.

Three-year-olds," the elders told Illya, "already rode horseback on their own, and five-year-olds to their utmost raced on horseback in the streets, shot with the bow and "played war."

Gradually from father to son were transferred the art of horse riding and sharp shooting, adroitness and coordination of actions.

This they told young Illya Kuryakin, being a Russian put him at a great disadvantage, since he was not born a Cossack and had no Cossack father. Still they were willing to let him try and as a great trust, Yuli Borisovich said he would stand as father to the young Kuryakin.

A few of them looked him over, thinking he was too skinny and weak to handle a Cossack horse.

Illya defended himself, feeling a bit indignant that his manhood was being questioned.

"I survived the war and the death camp at Babi Yar and was all alone... I was orphaned. Trust me when I say, I am strong and learn fast."

They nodded their heads, and one man by the name of Ivan Petrovich Mykola dared to step forward and pull up the Russians sleeve. He nodded, almost apologetically when he saw the blue ink of the concentration camp tattoo on Illya's forearm.*

"Yes, you had to be strong to live through that," Mykola winked, "still you are not Kazak, so we will see."

Illya leaned forward to the man, whispering something secretive in his ear, not for others to hear.

"Rom?" Ivan Mykola repeated.

"Da."

"Can I tell the elders?"

Illya bit his lower lip, hesitating but nodded his approval to the man.

"This one has the blood of the Rom in him as well! "Mykola bellowed. "He is strong enough as his people too have been ravaged by the Germans and our own government. _Dobro pozhalovatʹ Illya Nickovich_welcome Illya Nickovich._

Mykola took hold of his shoulders with a tight grip, kissing him on the left cheek then the right, and each of the elders followed in turn, leaving Yuli Borisovich the last to welcome him.

"Do not shame me, my son," Yuli whispered in Illya's ear as he kissed the young Russian's cheeks.

"I will not, you have my promise."

He had now been accepted by the _Kubanskiye Kаzaki. _Illya now had to prove he was a man of his word...

The next day his life among the Cossacks began, and he stood, smiling, as he watched the riders speed past, doing their fancy tricks as they bounced off the ground, alighting to their saddles The grace and beauty of the old Cossack ways...stirred his soul.

Ivan Mykola stood beside him, pointing out the intricacies of each moment, and how they had to be timed perfectly. "You must be as one with your horse," he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Cossack family values were simple, rigid, and to a Western eye, seemed to come from another time. The men built the home and provided an income; the women cooked, cleaned and give birth to children. Traditional Russian values, culture, and Orthodoxy formed the bedrock of their beliefs. Illya observed there seemed to be more children in this clan, perhaps because it was in such a rural area. Yuli Borisovich was the elder patriarch, though he was a strong man, and far from any image of a grandfather figure. It was he who was their leader and held the title of Ataman.

Finally after proving himself by joining in the work of the Cossacks the the day came when they called to Illya."Come boy, it is time to ride. We will teach you!"

A horse was selected for him and he grabbed the reins with an eager, "Da!" he smiled as he saw it.

Cossack horses were sturdy animals; one had to show them who was boss, otherwise you'd be thrown from their backs like an unwanted guest, tossed out on the snow.

His horse was of the Don, the oldest Cossack breed. It was not Kubanian, or Budenny, but would do, they said. He liked that, remembering that Father Demya said once his horse was also of the Don; they were Cossacks who settled along the middle and lower Don River, one of the major rivers of Russia that rose in the town of Novomoskovsk 60 kilometres southeast from Tula, southeast of Moscow, and flowed for a distance the Sea of Azov.

They called the chestnut mare, "Grom" meaning Thunder. Yet the horse apparently did not like the young Kuryakin at first, bucking and throwing him off instantly.

Still, Illya was determined, and went back again and again until Grom accepted him.

Illya sat atop the beast, feeling a sense of freedom, with the wind blowing through his blond hair. After a few attempts and encouraging words shouted out by Mykola, Illya balanced himself as he rose in the stirrups, standing straight, using his lower legs to hold himself up, releasing the reins.

If he died this moment, he would die a happy man.


	6. Chapter 6

At the end of his first lesson, Illya stroked the horse, talking softly to Grom and feeding him a carrot or two as he brushed him down.

"See," Mykola said, "You have become one with him. He looks into your eyes, see. Return his gaze, let him know you are in charge, but are still his friend. There is no greater feeling than being in touch with your horse and he with you...except that of being with your woman, and seeing your son born."

"Thank you Ivan Petrovich, I will have to take your word on the other things, but yes, there is nothing I can compare to riding this horse. It is like he is in my head, and I can feel his thoughts as well."

"You haven't had a woman? How is this possible for a handsome fellow such as yourself?" Ivan half laughed at him as he slapped his thighs.

Illya blushed. He was not one for talking about such personal things, and there was only one girl he'd ever been with at the orphanage, but that seemed like it was ages ago, even though it was not.

At school he avoided females and went on about his studies.

"Ah so you have felt the love of a girl perhaps," Mykola teased him.

"Yes," Illya spoke shyly, thinking of Natasha. It was she who tenderly taught him how wonderful sex could be. After leaving that life behind, Illya denied his yearnings, thinking only of Natasha, who was lost to him...*

"I see, shy you are," Mykola changed his tone of voice. "Fear not, as the way the girls here have been looking at you since you first arrived, one of them, no doubt, will grant you her favor. Just be careful when it happens that you do not get her pregnant..." Ivan winked at him, he passed a pouch to the young Russian, and snorted at Illya's reaction when he saw the contents were condoms made of sheep intestines.

.

Illya tucked the bag in his belt, trying to control his embarrassment and returned his attention to Grom. He did as he was told, and after gazing eye to eye, the horse nuzzled him, looking for a few more pets. The Russian smiled, figuring a few more carrots wouldn't hurt.

In the following days he continued joining the men at their work, listening as they sang while going about their daily tasks, the strong _Kubanskiye Kаzaki, _building their shelters.

The traditional music of the Kuban Cossacks was rather peculiar. It could be divided into two main styles, Black Sea with a strong Ukrainian influence and Linear with strong Russian influence. The reason was that this Cossack group, the second largest Cossack Host, after the Don, was formed by the former Zaporozhians of the Black Sea, that was why there were songs that considered to be Cossack songs by Cossacks, and Ukrainian by Ukrainians.

The most typical in Cossack music was similar to an "Indo-Chinese", or "Scottish" scale, being pentatonic and adding to the melody particular coloring, unusual to the ear accustomed to the harmonic combination of a classical musical scale.

Illya discovered, having a good ear, that in spite of linguistic similarities, songs of Zaporozhian Cossacks differed from Ukrainian music due to the domination of the same nature sounds of "eastern" five-tone scale.

He had a gift for these sort of things when it came to music, he seemed to have a natural understanding of it. Music became one of his secret passions, especially the kind called "jazz." Though it was banned in the Soviet Union, on could listen to it if one knew where to find it. Being under the wing of GRU had some advantages.

Some of the Cossack songs were so popular among Non-Cossack Russians, that no one even realized that they were actually Cossack songs. There were songs about Cossacks, urban songs, which most of people thought were the Cossack ones, though Illya discovered this was not exactly true.

There was a song they sang one day, called "_Da u morya___Oh by the sea_," Illya had heard it before and was surprised to find out it was a Kazak song, and one he realized they were singing for him, as it was about going off to the sea and referenced '_Illya Muromets._'

"_I akh, ya byla na more, po elektronnoy moryushku , akh, da , more sineye ,_

_O, more sineye I, okh, kak sinyaya byla, moryushku , da, morskiye, Khvalynskoye,_

_I, okh ... sineye more, na Khvalynskaya YA tam vozbezhivali korablichki , da, rovno tridtsatʹ tri korablya__

_And oh I was at sea, by e moryushku, oh yes, sea blue, Oh, by the sea blue, And oh, how the blue was, moryushku, oh yes, by sea, by Khvalynskoye, And, oh ... blue sea, on Khvalynskaya, And there vozbezhivali korablichki, oh yes, exactly thirty-three ships._

_And oh, how one or some of them, her one falcon ship, Oh, in advance, the rascal, soon runs. But oh well it was on this korablichke, oh izukrashennay Her one Korab_

_A second nose feed that have been in this korablichke an animal, And oh what zvedeny side to this korablichke a snake. A second of the eyes, it was on this road korablichke stones sapphires, And oh it was an eyebrow at this korablichke black sable Siberia._

_And oh mustache that was on this korablichke Vostro nozhechki bulatnyya,And oh for the tail was on this korablichke two bears white. A second one Chervon izuveshenna Her ship, oh, red velvet, her one Korab, A second one decked Her Chervon ship, oh, fine zemchugom, her one Korab._

_And oh, and the owner was on this korablichke Illya Muromets, son Ivanovic."_

Mykola elbowed him, with a wink. "I think they will miss you _volchonka _when it is time for you to go to sea in your great boat."

"I will miss this place too, and you all Ivan Petrovich," Illya smiled, as it had been a long time since he'd been called '_wolfcub._' That was a name his family used to call him, and now it seemed his Kazak family did as well. It made Illya Nickovich Kuryakin feel more at home than he had since he was a child living in the dacha outside of Kyiv.

Yes he would miss this place very much. His time was growing short, but in nearly four weeks he'd learned much more than he'd expected. Yes, his dream of riding like the great Cossacks had come true, but he'd come to love the people even more.

They were a simple but great people and he only hoped he could be like them in some way. Perhaps a life of simplicity, a lack of material attachment would suffice. Illya chuckled at himself, thinking he sounded like a monk, wanting to take a vow of poverty.

In a way he'd lived under such vows already. He owned nothing of value, as his was a life of extremes. Hunger, deprivation, self-control...so many things he learned as a child, and things he'd learned from GRU and Viktor Karkoff.

The man pretended to be a father figure to him, but was nothing more than a strict taskmaster, who took little joy in life and he expected the young Kuryakin to be the same way.

Yet Illya refused; he did as he was told, but Viktor would never drive the spark of humanity that still lived within him.

.

* ref "The Orphanage"


	7. Chapter 7

Illya was in awe of the hardiness of these people, they were the Cossacks of old who survived the persecution of the Bolsheviks and the onslaught of the Nazis and at times now even their own government. When the war was over, Stalin didn't need Cossacks' patriotism anymore. The Soviet Government returned to their anti-Cossack practices, destroying what was left of the Cossack communities little by little.

There was a saying: "Cossacks are like children: give them a lot of food - they'll eat it all, give them a little - they'll be happy with what they have".

Yet they practiced simplicity, and were very inventive. It seemed they could survive anywhere. When in the field, if they had no metal cooking utensils they managed to cook their food in a wooden kettle, adding burning hot stones from the fire, until the water boiled. They were self-sufficient, and needed nothing from the government, and that the Kremlin did not like at all.

Once satisfied with the small huts being readied, Illya was asked by their leader to join them at their main campfire in a communal hut they had constructed, an apparent honor for an outsider. After a long day's work, the young Russian sat with them listening to their songs.

Bread salt and water was a Cossack's meal, and from customs carried over from the Zaporozhian Sich, strict rules existed, which no one could break, neither Cossack or outsider.

For the common people bread was an object of reverence; considered holy and a gift of God. This is attested by the word for grain__zbizhzhia_, meaning the totality of divinity. As a sacred object bread played an important role in all Kazaki folk customs. No significant family event could take place without it. Bread was used to bring divine blessings to the commencement of every farm task,a marriage ceremony, the birth of a child, and the move to a new home. Bread was also used at funerals and wakes to part with the dead. As a sign of hospitality, guests of honor at celebrations and public functions were greeted with a ceremonial offering of bread and salt. The completion of their homes, against the cruelty of the Russian winter was a cause for celebration.

After the tasting the bread, salt and water, they drank scented sweet-tea from a Cossack samovar. Mykola whispered to Illya, telling him it was actually a potion that bewitched girls and fellows, strengthened a Cossacks health and courage, and protected them from evil forces. He laughed heartily when he saw the look on the young Russian's face.

The women served the men sweet honey, _Sooshka_, honey cakes and bread with jam to whet their appetites. After that came the main a meal of roasted elk, flavored with spices. The aroma was made the young Russian's stomach rumble as he, often lived on scraps, turnips and Kashi. There was very little good meat in Illya's diet, and he was ready to devour his portion doled out to him.

Though the food was delicious and plentiful among the Kazak, this meal to Illya, was spectacular, as his eating habits waxed and waned from bare subsistence to outright starvation at times. He went hungry more often than he'd liked to admit. That was in part to his Soviet masters, as they liked to keep their people lean and compliant...

As he was considered a special guest, the young Kurakin was given a larger portion, along with a loaf of bread all his own. Accompanying the meat, there were boiled root vegetables served in a thick brown gravy. It reminded him of the _Ragu iz Ovoshchey_ his mother had made when the priest stayed that night in their dacha so long ago.

He was not insulted as they laughed at him, watching him polish off his food in no time. Yuli's wife, an exotic looking woman with almond eyes, handed him another bowl of meat.

"We could fatten you up if you would stay with us a month or two longer!" Dasha smiled.

"Would that I could mother, but my duty soon calls me to _Severomorsk_." He meant that with all his heart. He could live with these people the rest of his life, they had become an extended family to him as they welcomed him into their lives. Illya knew this could never be, and was at least grateful he had this time with them...

After the meal, they drank strong homemade potato vodka. Though it was not like traditional vodka made from wheat, it served its purpose for the Kazaki, unlike the State approved vodka that enslaved the Russian people into a life of drunkenness, making them dependant upon the government, as drunks could be easily controlled.

The Cossacks sang out as they toasted to the days work, now that everything was ready for the coming of winter. Though they were Christian, they honored the old ways too, throwing honey, bread and cheese as a bloodless sacrifice into the fire to honor the winter mother goddess, _Rozhnitsa, _whose arrival would be soon.

V62-letniy sbor Kazbek ordu

On sobral svoikh prestupnikov, no vedet , vedet dlya nas,

On sobral svoikh prestupnikov, no vedet , vedet dlya nas

On vedet , vedet dlya nas znayet, chto on ne v pervyy raz

On vedet , vedet dlya nas znayet, chto on ne v pervyy raz

My, russkiye nashikh serdtsakh, my dokazhem, negodyai,

My, russkiye nashikh serdtsakh, my dokazhem negodyayev...

In 62-year collecting Kazbek horde

He gathered his outlaws, but leads, leads for us,

He gathered his outlaws, but leads, leads for us

He leads, leads for us to know he's not the first time

He leads, leads for us to know he's not the first time

We Russian our hearts, we will prove scoundrels,

We Russian our hearts, we will prove scoundrels

Singing the song of ragamuffins, the honor and glory of the Cossacks,

Singing the song of ragamuffins, the honor and glory of the Cossacks

We broke camp, where shelter was Caucasian,

We broke camp, where a shelter was Caucasian

There, we adopted a fortress, called Maikop."

It was a song filled with pride, of being Cossacks and surviving in spite of what life thrown at them. They gloried in their existence as a free people...and that was enough for them. In a way, he envied them, as one he left this place, his life would be one of subservience. He would have to do as he was told, and go where he was told, that was to be the sum total of his life. He stopped having any choice the day all his family had been murdered by the Nazis,

Illya couldn't help but stare across the flames of the campfire at one of the pretty girls sitting there, Magda was her name. He'd seen her around camp and had the feeling at times she was following him.

The singers paid no attention as she smiled at him. She saw he was looking at her, and stood, moving her shoulder in such a way as to call him to follow her. Illya rose, and no one took notice as he walked into the darkness, following the girl at a distance.

They met in a haystack out in the field and Magda practically threw herself at him, pulling down her blouse and baring her breasts to him. Who was he to refuse such an offer? They made love in the hay, while the songs around the campfire echoed in the distance, muffling their cries of passion.

As the weeks went on, Illya worked along side the Kuban, still learning their ways, sitting beside their campfires listening to their songs and stories...sneaking off into the night with their daughters.

Life was good, yet there was a pall that hung over these people, unseen by them. Illya knew there were few such men as these left as Stalin had seen to that as he sought to rid Kazak people of their unsophisticated and ignorant ways. That was how the Soviets saw them.

The Kubanskiye Kаzaki were clinging to their traditions, yet could not see their ways were slowly dying out, along with them. He would learn as much as he could, preserving their collective memories so they would live on.

Life on the steppes was a happy one for Illya, and the memories of it would sustain him as he went off to fulfill his duty. How he ended up in the Navy was beyond him, as he was prone to seasickness. Yet some luck was with him as he somehow had the good fortune to be assigned to a submarine, where one did not feel the effects of seasickness.

Illya Kuryakin sighed, thinking of Severomorsk, and not wanting to go...


	8. Chapter 8

It was near the end of his stay with the Kazaki that it happened, coming swiftly and without mercy in the middle of the night, when Illya was woken. Next to him in his bed was Magda and they both quickly dressed. Grabbing their coats, they rushed outside only to be met by horsemen riding everywhere with torches in their hands, setting the roofs of the Cossack homes on fire. The repeat of rifle and machine gun fire filled the air and Magda took off in a panic, though Illya called after her as she disappeared in the darkness.

Illya watched from the shadows, listening to the screams as squads of governent soldiers invaded the camp of these Cossack men who had throughout Russian history, remained loyal to the Red Army. Some from the 94th Beloglisnky, 152nd Rostovsky and 48th Belorechensky regiments, some having fought to their death at the encirclement of Belostok.

Illya sadly shook his head in dismay as Soviet soldiers trampled women, and killed the precious children, hoping the Kubanskiye Kаzaki line would die out with them. There was nothing he could do, and he hid in the night, feeling like a skulking dog. Tomorrow it would be time for him to leave to report for duty at Severomorsk, on board the Zulu class submarine, Moskva. He watched in disbelief as the carnage continued. his dreams shattering with their deaths. His reality of reporting to duty would be all that remained for him...

After the destruction ended and the soldiers retreated, a grey dawn arrived; Illya walked the killing fields alone in a state of shock. He looked out, seeing the bodies of the people he had come to love strewn everywhere. Magda was dead not far from the ruin of her house where they had slept and made love. Yuli, Mykola...all of them were dead.

He heard the whimper of a child, but by the time he found her, she too was dead. Illya saw something gold, shining on the ground beside her. It was a miniature icon dropped by someone, and picking it up, he hid it close to his heart, not for worship, but as a reminder of the day, though he would in truth, he would never forget this tragedy.

He did not understand this at all as he passed the carcass of his beautiful horse, Grom...all the horses had been slaughtered as well.

Illya cast a long last look at the outside world, grim as it was at the moment. Blood was everywhere, tainting the grass of the steppes and the last of its wild flowers. Soon it would be only cold dark waters and grey skies that would surround him for the next six months. He slowly bowed his head. He had hoped to take happy memories with him, and now this would be etched in his heart instead.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky and a long, rolling rumble of thunder heralded an approaching storm. The snow came quickly, blanketng the land in white, making it look pure again, and covering all evidence of the crimes committed here.

Illya pulled his wool coat tightly about him and walked for a long time in the falling snow. Finally finding shelter in a village; htold them of the massacre on the Kuban steppes.

"_Kakoye nam delo , my ne sobaki, kak te, Kazaki . My luchshe bez ikh vid tak ili inache_what do we care, we are not dogs like those Kazaki._ we are better off without their kind anyway._" They looked on with indifference...

Illya silently cursed these people and his Soviet masters for their ruthlessness, yet he too was at their mercy, just as the Kаzaki had been. He had no choices in life. He did as he was told, if not, death was the alternative.

They were unmerciful, not caring for him, but he was not yet ready to die.

.

Days later Illya arrived at the closed town of Severomorsk, the main administrative base of the Russian Northern Fleet and having the largest dry dock on the Kola Peninsula. He had changed first into his uniform and reported for duty, still haunted by what had happened, but forced himself to pay attention to the task at hand.

He had gone through his training and was given the rank of junior Lieutenant for his first assignment, which in a way kept him separate from the regular seamen. He was small and had been referred to as a 'pretty boy' and that gave him reason to always watch his back. The pearl-handled switch blade given to him at the orphanage in Moskva by his friend Natasha would be his only weapon but it was one he knew how to use well. *

Life onboard a nuclear submarine was tense as they patrolled the Barents, Norwegian Seas, the Arctic and Atlantic Oceans. They were responsible for the defense of northwestern Russia from the Imperialists of the West.

His turn on duty was tedious as there were times he would monitor radar for any suspicious blips, but the most exciting thing he heard was the song and sounds of whales, so much so that he was eventually he was able to distinguish them apart. That was something he longed to see, bur it was rare that the sub would surface when the pods of whales were nearby.

The endless hours of boredom, playing cards, reading, and fending off unwanted advances with his knife made for a tense existence all at the age of seventeen. There were times he slept fitfully, adding that gruesome sight on the steppes to the memories that haunted him from his childhood; the ghosts of his family, the faces of the walking dead in the concentration camp who would all haunt him in his dreams."

He heard children and women screaming and the desperate voices of the Kazak men who could not defend their people, and the high-pitched cries of the horses as they died.

And yet he dreamed of riding...

Some of his boat mates would laugh at him, waking up and crying out at times in the middle of the night, saying. "They sent us a child instead of a man. We should throw you overboard pretty boy as you are no good to us always crying. There were those who thought him weak fro that reason, and would attempt to rape him, but after a few had been knifed with his switchblade, they finally left him alone.

.

Illya was nearing the end of his tour of duty when the Moskva anchored near one of the many islands in the White sea, and there they went ashore seeking freshwater and any supplies they could add to their stores.

Silhouetted on a hill near a ruined monastery stood a large chestnut horse, its mane and tail blowing in the frigid wind.

Shaking it's head as Illya stood still watching, it seemed to call to him.

"Fresh meat!" Someone cried out. "Get it!"

"You Kuryakin, you know horses, go catch it and we'll have enough meat to eat for a month!"

Again, he had no choice and his stomach knotted as he approached the magnificent beast, hoping it would flee. He knew instantly it was a Cossack horse...

Yet Illya made a choice, even though he knew he would pay a price for making it. "Yah!" He yelled in a low voice, waving his arms to frighten the animal away. He stood there in the cold, watching it run as his boatmates fired a few shots in desperation, but missed hitting the horse as it disappeared along the horizon.

Watching it run, Illya dreamed yet again of riding Cossack horses...

Some of the men ran up behind him, cursing him out. One delivered a kidney punch to the blond, sending him down to his hands and knees in pain, gasping for breath. Another spat on him. There they left Illya, until he pulled himself up, and turning round, he limped back to the submarine.

Yet he craned his neck one last time, trying to catch a final glimpse of the horse; it was gone, but that meant it was safe. The words of Father Demya uttered so long ago suddenly came to his mind, though Illya Nickovich Kuryakin was no longer a believer, yet somehow they still brought comfort to him.

"The hungry shall eat and shall be satisfied. Those who seek the Lord shall praise Him; their hearts shall live forever. Bless us Lord and Your gifts which we are about to receive. You are blessed and glorified forever."

The gift he had received was as one to a hungry man, seeing a Kazak horse live and run free again...

When Illys was done with his service in the Soviet navy, it would be time to trade off one taskmaster for another. He would finish his training for GRU. After that, his first assignment would take him to the closed city of Gorky, to spy on Russian scientists and make sure they were not sharing secrets with anyone else. From Gorky, it was onto Paris where Victor Karkoff insisted he would continue his education at the Sorbonne...

After that, who knew what life held in store for him...

****FINIS**  
**

* ref "The Orphanage" ** ref "Beginnings"

The final paragraph references two stories, "Petrushka" published in the Kuryakin Files #31, and "FIrst Kil.l" Both can be read here on


End file.
